On Gonzo's Pond - La Noche BuenaLuis Gonzalez for
Boiling Frogs.
Esta noche es Noche Buena,
vamos al monte, hermanito,
a buscar un arbolito
porque la noche es serena.
That was the first Christmas song I ever learned. My mother sang me to sleep with it, softly, lovingly, longer ago than either of us cares to admit. Even now, it drifts back like a warm breeze from a distant shore, carrying the scent of childhood and the echo of a homeland preserved in memory more than in sight.
Tonight is Christmas Eve,
let’s go to the woods, little brother,
to go find a little tree,
because the night is serene.
A lullaby, yes, but also a lifeline. A thin, shining thread stretching back to the earliest flickers of my consciousness, reminding me who I am, where I come from, and why the past must be held with great care. Tradition is a compass; it steadies the future by giving the heart something true to hold.
I have two brothers: one born there, as I was, and the youngest born here, on new soil. We all fell asleep to that song, but it is the American-born brother, the one who never lived a Noche in Buena on Cuban ground, who now carries the deepest responsibility to keep the tradition alive. Perhaps the child born on foreign soil clings even more tightly to the rituals that anchor us. Perhaps the stories he grew up with made him their natural guardian.
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